


Dedication

by micehell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drama, M/M, fluff with sex, holiday related, written before we knew about Reid's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-17
Updated: 2006-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a jelly doughnut</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dedication

It started with a jelly doughnut. Not that Gideon had known that. He'd just known that it was cold outside, that he'd had too little sleep, that the people he spent his life chasing seemed to take gruesome glee in the holidays, and that there was a jelly doughnut on his desk when he got in that morning. So he ate it.

::::::::::

Late the next day, almost the day after, Gideon made his way back to his hotel room, ass dragging and a little singed. Chicago had been burning, and not a cow in sight.

Wanting, needing, a shower, he started stripping off ruined clothes on his way to the bathroom, letting them fall wherever they wanted, only to be bought up short at the sight of the bandage on his right arm. It stood out bright against his darker skin, mocking him with his fuck up. Also being an impediment to the shower that was going to save his life, damn it.

Gideon found that there were few sensations more awkward than walking around a strange room naked, especially when he had to bend over more than a few times looking for something to wrap a bandage in, but he was nothing if not persistent, and eventually he had the lining to the ice bucket tacked over the bandage, hot water pouring over them both.

Memories of the night were darting around his head like flies, but he let them go, concentrating on the heat spraying over his body, the pain of relaxing muscles feeling overwhelmingly good. If he thought about the pain hard enough, the phantom visions of Reid, eyes open and still in a lake of flesh burned almost beyond recognition, were just will o' the wisps, ignorable.

The hotel's hot water heater finally ran dry, the chill water chasing him out of the shower, back into his room, where Hotch was waiting. Gideon ignored him as he got dressed for bed, but he knew that the silence wouldn't last anywhere near long enough.

"Reid said they'd kicked you loose. How are you feeling?"

Gideon scrubbed his hands over his face, barely feeling the sting of the burn, or his face or his hands for that matter. He felt numb. "Like I spent all day trying to profile some idiot arsonist, only to find him by accident, and nearly get burned in his last fire. Other than that, not so bad."

Hotch didn't exactly smile, but he wasn't not smiling either, and Gideon could tell this wasn't a business call. "He can take care of himself, Gideon."

Not totally a business call anyway. He would have called him Jason if there wasn't some part of the agent as well as the man here to call him on what he'd done. "I know."

After the skeptical look aimed at him, he said it a little more firmly. "I do know. It's just... I couldn't see him, and I knew he was near Marks, near the ignition point."

"And he had the radio, he'd already said he was okay and making his way out, and if he'd needed help he would have asked for it. So why the hell did you try to walk through a burning building to get to him?"

Hotch's voice had risen on that, but Gideon had trouble finding his. He knew the reason, but he wasn't about to say it.

The look of sympathy, raking over nerves pretty much at their end, was a good clue that Hotch already knew the reason, but the tight set to his lips told Gideon that the conversation wasn't over. "You could have been killed. You almost got him killed. He walked back into that fire, even though he'd already made it out, just to make sure you were okay, getting burned for his efforts."

And that got past the numbness, a burn that stung far more than the one on his arm. "I know that, too."

Something in his voice must have tipped Hotch over from agent to friend, because he ran a warm hand down Gideon's good arm, the tight look to his face relaxing into a smile. "He has a minor burn, Gideon. It hardly even required a bandage. I think the only reason he got bandaged at all was because he looked so pathetic, not unlike a drowned, if exceedingly tall, rat, and the doctor couldn't help but mother him. He brings that reaction out in people. Obviously."

Both of them knew it wasn't familial concern that had driven him to search for Reid, but Gideon grinned anyway. "The AIC was hanging all over him, too."

Hotch laughed, scarily almost a giggle, and he filled Gideon in on his suspicions about the AIC. "I don't think that the Anderson was paying attention to Reid because he felt sorry for him. He kept touching his shoulder while being very solicitous about his health. And he gave him an enormous bag of candy as a... get-well gift."

Gideon could have giggled himself, trying to imagine the very large, very hairy AIC hanging over Reid with tender concern. Amusement died with the thought that he wasn't any less pathetic with his pointless, and poorly executed, attempts at heroic rescue. He didn't resist the small bite of jealousy that made him ask, "How did Reid react to that?"

"About how you'd expect. He looked at his shoes while kind of thanking the man, and then forgot about him in the next second, asking how the rest of the team was."

Gideon smirked at that, insanely pleased that Reid wasn't interested in Anderson's attention. Or was at least oblivious to it. He knew he should feel bad about that, but he was too tired to even pretend at this point. The yawn that almost broke his jaw was just another sign of it, and a hint he hoped that Hotch would take.

Hotch had known him far too long, was far too perceptive, the profiler always sitting there in the same skin as his friend, and Gideon couldn't tell which aspect made him decide to play yenta. "Reid can take care of himself, Jason. Did so for more years than he should have before you even met him. I understand the need to protect him, I'm guilty of that one, too, but we can't smother him." He paused, almost said something, changed his mind, then changed it back again. "That being said, however, maybe sometimes he'd like someone to take care of him." Another pause, and then, "Only, you know, not at work."

Gideon let himself wonder for a moment if Hotch knew something about Reid that he didn't, had had the same sort of conversation with him, but he squashed down hard on the little tingle of hope that caused. That way led to madness. Or, at least, longer, colder showers, and Gideon was not going that route.

His showers were already long and cold enough.

The weight of the day was pulling at his eyes, and he yawned again.

Hotch grinned again, finally taking the hint and letting the matter go. "Get some sleep. We have an early flight tomorrow."

Gideon thought he might have said good night at that point, but he really couldn't be bothered to care if he did or not. Too tired for any kind of nicety, he collapsed on the bed, not even pulling the covers down.

And rolled right back off the bed when it gave a strange crinkle. The crinkle was a small wax paper bag, which turned out to hold mashed latkes, oil hardened to whiter lumps amidst the whitish potato. He had the hazy thought they probably hadn't been mashed before he laid on them, and that it was odd that hotels had stopped using chocolate for their turn-down service, especially in favor of latkes, and then thought that maybe Morgan had been right, and he really was having a major depressive episode. Or even just a plain old nervous breakdown.

He almost had the thought that he thought too much as he threw the bag away, this time getting the covers down before he fell back into bed, letting thought fall away.

::::::::::

Gideon stared out the small window of the plane, trying to will away the tension headache that ran down from the tips of his remaining hair to his tips of his aching toes. His shoulders were so tight he felt like his neck had disappeared into them. He held a fond memory of the hotel shower, and was still disappointed that he'd slept too late take advantage of it, having only gotten up when Morgan came pounding on his door, yelling at him to get a move on.

What sleep he'd gotten hadn't done much, as he was still tired as hell. He looked at his watch and grimaced. Only 8AM, and he was already ready for the day to be over, especially as it was shaping up to be as bad as the day before.

He snorted, knowing (hoping) that it wasn't that bad. He just needed to relax a little, let yesterday go. The blinking cursor on his laptop screen, smack in the middle of his unfinished report on the arsonist, was a slow beat tapping out the message that it wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Gideon ignored it, concentrating hard on his report, ignoring the haze of sleep that was clouding his mind, the faint whistle of someone's snore. He knew that if he worked at it, there was no reason why he shouldn't be done with the report before they landed.

Gideon woke to the increasingly loud sound of Morgan and Hotchner trying to talk their way into a share of the get-well candy that the AIC had given Reid.

Reid was eyeing them both with something like suspicion, the only sign of his adventures of the day before the bandages around his left hand, a tiny streak of red marring the white where the candy had melted somewhere besides his mouth. His bearing had all the weight of an Old Testament judge, Solomon in the flesh - if you could picture Solomon clutching a two-pound bag of M&M's tightly to his chest - as he asked, "Why should I give you any of my candy?"

Hotch's "I packed your clothes for you" was almost drowned out by Morgan's "Because we're partners, man," but Reid just tilted his head, lips pursed, a caricature of thought. Hotch and Morgan were twin puppy dogs; wide, pleading eyes focused on the red and green bag.

A chuff of laughter slipped past Reid's control, a quirk of lips, but his, "Okay," was said as if he were giving up an organ instead of cheap candy. He poured a handful for Hotch, then another for Morgan. Morgan looked at both, pouting. "Hey, you gave him more than me."

Ignoring the argument this produced, Reid got up and sat beside Gideon, awkwardly counting out pieces of candy with one hand while holding the bag in the other before handing them over with a small smile. "Here you go. Eight of them."

The too rare smile, the candy clicking in his palm, were proof that Gideon hadn't screwed up too badly, and he grinned, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Is that more or less than Morgan got?"

The smile slipped, a flash of... something crossing Reid's face before it took on its more usual solemn air. He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. "Wait a minute and he'll probably tell you."

But then Elle was there looking for her share, and Morgan crowded in, smiling as he bumped against Reid and mock whined to Gideon about Reid liking him best, and any questions Gideon might have had were lost in the moment.

::::::::::

Take a city full of one-way streets and other vagaries of urban planning. Add a dense population base, a large number of tourists, and about 8 gazillion supposed VIPs, all of them still in a frenzy of shopping and parties during the post-holiday season. Then top it off with snow: fluffy, white and slippery as hell. It made a Currier and Ives print titled 'Gridlock on the Beltway.'

After the mess on the roads, Gideon was just happy to be back in the quiet of the office. The halls were only partly lit, most everyone gone except for the support staff. Gideon knew he should go home as well, they all needed some down time, but he'd said he was coming back after the meeting, and he didn't have any other plans. There was always paperwork that needed doing.

He got to his office, sitting at his desk with a sigh of relief. As good as home, really. He heard the sound of Morgan's voice from down the hall, wondering what he was still doing here. It wasn't like he couldn't talk his way into some pretty young lady's, or even ladies', party plans.

The matches sat almost perfectly aligned in the center of his desk. Gideon's breath held for a moment, the memory of flames still too close, and then the heat he felt was anger. He knew he suffered from hypervigilism still, that things took on greater importance for him than they did for other people, but he couldn't believe that someone had thought the matches were anything but a sick joke.

The sound of Morgan's voice came again, laughing about something, always the joker. Gideon remembered the whistle, remembered more pranks than that, some of which had even made his jacket. It was just one of the little things that had kept him out of Boston, though that had turned out to be in his favor.

Another laugh, closer, and Gideon was down the hall before he could think. He found Morgan near his desk, threw the matchbox at him, hitting him square in the chest. His voice was almost a growl, "Did you think this was funny?"

Morgan looked down at the matches, up at Gideon, confusion all over his face. "Funny? Matches? Um, not particularly."

It made Gideon pause. Morgan could be pretty sly, but the confusion was real. "They weren't from you."

Morgan was shaking his head, and Gideon was thinking on how to apologize, when Reid's voice came, soft and curious. "They're mine."

Both Gideon and Morgan turned to him, and Morgan smiled. "Oh. You must have got them for the-"

Reid waved a hand, cutting him off, trying to hide the gesture by running the hand through his hair. "Yes, for the... thing."

Gideon was confused now. Morgan he could see playing a joke, never minding how tactless it was, but Reid? "Why did you leave them on my desk?"

He didn't add how could you stand to be around them, considering you're still wearing a bandage from the last time you were around matches, but he thought it might have been in his voice, because Reid looked down, stammering out, "They were for later. It's just... well, you came back faster than I expected, and I... I thought, when it was sunset... when it was darker..."

"What, you wanted to burn matches in my office for a light source? I think that's what the light switch is for."

"No..." Reid trailed off again, frustrated. "I had this all planned out in my head."

Morgan coughed, pointing at himself and then the door, but Reid just shook his head. "I'll just go and get the, well, I'll be back." He gave Gideon one last look and went down the hall to the break room, the red on his face visible in even the partial lighting.

As they watched him go, he tripped over nothing that they could see, and Gideon felt the little swirl of guilt in his stomach that told him that he'd just done his second stupid thing in a row, though he didn't know what this one was yet. And, of course, he still hadn't apologized for the first stupid thing. He turned back to Morgan, the, "Look, about before," on his lips, but Morgan just shook his head, a frown on his face.

"I'm going to leave you two alone now. You might want to try listening before you jump to anymore conclusions." Morgan reached over and grasped Gideon's shoulder. "And, Gideon? Try being nice, even if maybe you... well, it's just Reid, you know."

After sowing that bit of further confusion, he patted Gideon's shoulder a couple of times, his signal that things were all right between them, and turned to leave. He paused in the doorway to the outer hall, hesitating, then said, "Just... be nice," as he left.

Gideon was wondering where Rod Serling was when Reid came back in. Carrying a menorah. There was a moment of disconnect, and then the outline of the puzzle started to come into shape. "You needed matches to light the menorah. In my office?"

The menorah was small, with an obviously fake gold plating on it, tiny little blue candles in four of the stems, still unlit. He'd even got them in the right direction, but he was always good with detail. Reid was staring at it as if it would answer the question, but he finally responded himself. "Yes."

Which was an answer, but not very helpful. Gideon felt like he was in a farce, only he didn't know his lines. "Again, why?"

Reid finally looked up at him, confused. "Um, for Hanukkah."

"You don't celebrate."

"Oh, no, for you."

"I don't celebrate."

That fleeting something, the same expression he'd seen on the plane, crossed Reid's face again, and Gideon couldn't help but think it looked like disappointment. But why would Reid care that he didn't celebrate Hanukkah? He would know that the holiday wasn't particularly significant for most people, at least not once you were past childhood.

"It was just, well, kind of a gift for you."

Reid's speech was awkward, hesitant, much more than usual, and his body language was screaming how unsure he was, but the word gift was the trigger for Gideon. More pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place, things that hadn't made any sense at the time, and little more now - the doughnut, the latkes, and hell, eight pieces of candy - making part of a bigger picture now.

"You gave me the latkes, the doughnut? Hanukkah gifts."

Reid gave a slight inclination of his head that could charitably have been called a nod.

Gideon had more pieces, but he still couldn't tell what the picture would be when the puzzle was finished. If one of the others had given him something for Hanukkah, he would have assumed it was just in a 'Happy Holidays,' all faiths represented, kind of way. But, then, one of the others would have been unlikely to give him a traditional gift, even if they'd had time to do some kind of gift exchange this year in the face of all the cases they'd had. But while Reid was certainly detail oriented enough to know what was traditional, he would have also been detail oriented enough to know that giving those types of gifts to a work colleague wasn't exactly done, either. "Okay, explain it to me. Use more than one word this time."

Reid thought about it for a moment, apparently working up his resolve about something as he looked Gideon in the eye. "Well, there is one word that's an explanation. Hanukkah. Dedication. But there's more than one meaning for dedication in the English language."

"That's something I'm already familiar with, and it doesn't really explain anything."

Raising the menorah a little, as if it illustrated his point, Reid nodded. "The miracle of Hanukkah is the oil, that kept the menorah lit for seven days longer than it should have, allowing for the successful rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem. Dedication as a ceremony."

Gideon was set to make another sarcastic comment about stating the obvious, but Morgan's admonition and Reid's face, wavering between determination and fear, kept him quiet, patient.

"But that miracle was reward for what they'd done, for standing up for what they believed in, at great sacrifice. Where they wouldn't give up what was important to them, even to make their lives easier. Dedication as an act of binding oneself to a course of action."

Reid paused, and Gideon wondered if the next definition of dedication would actually explain something, but it was the kiss that did that; rushed and awkward, and it almost missed Gideon's mouth altogether. Hotch's lecture, Morgan's, gifts without any real reason, except the need to get closer, and Gideon finally saw the picture, one he'd seen from the other side in a few too many dreams.

It explained everything. Well, almost everything. Gideon knew that Reid had problems with social situations, and wasn't exactly the most of aggressive of people. He knew that initiating a relationship with someone in the office, especially someone who was pretty much your boss, was awkward, and not exactly encouraged, as well. And oh how he knew that telling someone you liked them if you weren't sure they liked you back was hard, for anyone, but still. "Latkes on my pillow? What was up with that?"

::::::::::

"Boy, sex makes you hungry."

"Yes, for some people. Of course, the fact that we pretty much skipped lunch in favor of sex might have something to do with that, too."

They were at Gideon's place. They'd had a long dinner the night before, the restaurant they'd gone to eventually throwing them out when they'd stayed too long, and early in the morning they'd come back here, ostensibly to continue the talk they'd been having over dinner, setting boundaries for what was to come. That idea had lasted until the door had closed, and then Reid's mouth had been on his, showing the amazing focus that made him such a wonderful student. Talking had pretty much been a matter of short directions, some imperatives, and not a few expletives, after that.

They'd slept late, past noon, before hunger had woken them up, but they'd gotten a little sidetracked before they could actually cook anything, and were now sitting, still naked, on a newly made-up bed, eating things that would probably lead to Gideon's premature demise, and, more importantly, to potential discomfort later if they weren't careful about the crumbs.

Reid's face had the smug look of someone who'd just had very good sex, and appeared to be trying to eat his weight in Doritos. "But I often skip lunch, and I'm never this hungry afterwards. So by empirical evidence, my conclusion still stands."

Gideon's face had the smug look of someone who'd just had very good sex, and he was trying very hard not to eat his weight, which, recent exertions aside, was a tiny bit higher than he wanted, in M&M's. "That explains so much."

"About sex?"

"About your weight, or lack thereof."

Reid gave him a look that reminded him that his new source of steady sex might not be as steady as he could hope for if he didn't watch what he said. Not that Gideon wouldn't say something if the situation got any worse, but he would have done that when they were simply coworkers, and that was a problem for another day.

"Not that you don't look good as you are, Spencer." Gideon hoped that that didn't sound as pathetic as he thought it did.

Reid tensed up at the comment. Gideon would have assumed that if was the reference to his appearance, which he already knew was something Reid didn't like, but there'd been the moments of odd tension all night, usually right after Gideon called him Spencer.

He could see the pattern, but he didn't understand the problem. "My calling you Spencer makes you nervous." It wasn't a question, especially with the way Reid was looking guilty now. "Why?"

The guilty look faded into exasperation as Reid put the chips aside, his hands making short, quick movements, aborted attempts to explain, before he finally settled on, "It just seems so... intimate."

Intimate. Too intimate, when performing oral sex hadn't been. For the first time in what seemed like years, Gideon was at a loss of what to say. He felt a little embarrassed, maybe even a little hurt, though he shouldn't be. He'd allowed himself to ignore Reid's age, even knowing that he was really too young, too inexperienced, to be in more than a casual relationship, especially with someone old enough to be his father.

And that, the father thing, the mentor relationship that he'd already had with Reid, well, it only made sense that Reid would choose him as a means to gain sexual experience, to test out his orientation even. Gideon was a safe choice for him. Comfortable.

Before he could sink too far down into self-pity, the thought came to Gideon that comfortable wasn't the word that most people used to describe him. Intense, driven, even, on one notable occasion, as fucking wired as Ma Bell, but easy -

Reid answered the question that Gideon hadn't quite figured out how to ask. "If all I'd wanted was sex with someone, there were far quicker and far more convenient solutions available."

Well, that was a relief, in an insulting kind of way. Though his thinking that Reid was using him just to get some experience was also pretty insulting. Gideon wondered how much of what he'd been thinking had shown on his face, but Reid's face wasn't giving away as much as his apparently had. And if the relationship wasn't the issue, "Why is Spencer too intimate when sex isn't. And this time, show your work."

Reid relaxed at the joke. Showing his work had always been the hardest part of school, boring and a waste of time when the answers had seemed to arrive whole, deus ex machina, from a voice inside his head, and it had driven his teachers crazy. He'd told Gideon about it once, during a long flight out to the coast, and seemed pleased that he'd remembered. "Sex isn't novel. Okay, it's new in that there's more than one party present at the time, but still the mechanics of it are something I understand, and the practice of it, while not frequent enough to make me in any way bored with it, is still something I have a grip on." He grimaced at the apparently unintentional pun. "So to speak, anyway."

Gideon didn't show any impatience with the explanation, didn't wave his hand to make Reid speed up, though it was a near thing. He pulled his anxiety in, setting his own forgotten bag of candy aside. He sat close to Reid, letting one idle hand trace along the mesmerizing curve of ribs, down the planes of hips, across the top of one - verging on too - thin leg.

His breathing sped up, and Reid's face, his chest and stomach, flushed. He paused in his narrative to hmm his approval, canting his hips a little to give Gideon more direct access to his cock, already faintly stirring with new interest. Gideon knew he was hours away from that kind of interest himself, but there were still plenty of things to try. After the explanation. "You were saying?"

"I was? Oh, yes, well, so physical virginity was never my concern. Well, not-"

"Yes, I get this part. What comes after?"

Reid gasped a little, sliding down further on the bed, as the back of Gideon's hand accidentally brushed his swelling cock, but he managed to continue. "So physical intimacy wasn't the problem, but emotional intimacy... well, that I really have no practical experience at. You've met my parents."

"Yes, I've met them." He'd met them on a brief stopover for refueling when they were in Las Vegas. Gideon had pushed Reid to visit them, not wanting their relationship to suffer from distance, like it had for he and his son. Reid had reluctantly agreed on the condition that Gideon go, too.

That one visit had been one time too often as far as Gideon was concerned. He'd tried to not think too badly of them, considering that having such a phenomenally gifted child must have been difficult, and also considering his own hardly sterling parenting abilities. He'd tried, but hadn't been able to pull it off in the face of their less than warm welcome to their son, the attention they hadn't paid to him. It was abundantly clear in their ignorance about any specifics of Reid's life that the lack of concern wasn't a new thing.

"Yes, well that was one of my closer relationships with anyone, and even they rarely called me Spencer."

"What did they call you then?"

"Nothing, really."

Gideon knew Reid well enough to hear the hurt, an old one, through his normal detached tone. "So you're just flying blind on the whole how to be in a relationship thing."

"I did do some reading on what good relationships should be, watched some films."

"Harlequins and porn?"

Reid laughed, shaking his head, even as he squirmed until he was flat on the bed, his hips lifted, trying to get more contact on his still-hard cock.

Gideon shifted, moving his hand closer to the prize, amazed that it hadn't flagged under the depressing conversation. The resiliency of youth. There was already a bead of pre-come on the head, the length flushed red with arousal. He ran his fingers over the tip, smearing the liquid there around the head, down the shaft, feeling the blood pulsing beneath the flesh.

Reid's head fell back, neck arching invitingly, and Gideon couldn't help but take a little bit. Reid jerked at the feel of teeth, his hips pushing up into Gideon's light grip, making a small noise of complaint that vibrated against Gideon's lips. Even without any firm contact on his cock, he was shivering, his balls drawing up, near to coming already.

Gideon didn't bother with a tease, knowing how pointless it would be, and how unappreciated, gripping hard and pulling in quick strokes that made Reid call out something that Gideon swallowed down, the kiss open and harsh, stealing Reid's breath as he shuddered and came. Gideon gentled his touch, the kiss, a softer hand drawing the orgasm out in easing streams, light brush of tongue against kiss-swollen lips.

His own body felt warm, sated, the sight of Reid's face, open and happy in post-coital glow, a pleasure well worth cultivating. His cock gave tiny little ripples in the wake of it.

Reid was fast falling asleep, Gideon not far behind. It really had been a hard week, and the sex had tapped deep into reserves.

"Night, Gideon." A whisper, slurred with sleep.

It was only around two in the afternoon, but Gideon wasn't awake enough to quibble. "Night, Reid."

There was time to learn the intimacy of given names. The warmth of the bed was enough for now.

::::::::::

The living room danced with light, the faint scent of pine filling it as the wood burned brightly in the fireplace. On the mantle above it, the menorah's candles fought bravely against the greater light, the eight candle flames performing synchronized maneuvers in the swirling updraft. Next to the menorah were a small, wooden dreidel and a handful of gelt, the gold symbols on the candy wrapping glinting richly. In front of the fire was Reid, who was spinning the dreidel.

Gideon moved behind him, gathering him into an embrace that conveniently moved him a little further away from the fire. He could laugh at himself for the move, but just because he understood the root of his fear, didn't mean the fear automatically went away.

Reid leaned forward, still intent on the dreidel, spinning it repeatedly and obviously not getting the desired result. Gimmel went by several times, and Gideon wondered what Reid was hoping for.

The next spin landed on heh, and Reid smiled, finally pushing back into Gideon's arms, apparently pleased with the result.

"Heh only gets you half. You get everything with gimmel."

Reid twisted a little, not pulling out of his grasp, but looking back at him, eyebrow quirked at the slight. "Do you really think I didn't know that?"

"Okay, okay, I will never question your knowledge of silly games again."

Gideon let it go, knowing that since Reid hadn't volunteered an answer, that it was either unimportant, or not something that he wanted to share.

The resolve lasted almost a full minute. "Why heh then?" If he'd been the type who could resist mysteries, he'd never have joined the FBI.

Reid shook his head, his hair falling free from behind his ear at the movement, brushing against Gideon's face. "Winning everything in the pot means someone else loses."

Distracted by the hair, a fetish he hadn't been aware he had until recently, it took Gideon a moment to make the connection. Two halves to win. Two of them. With heh, they could share whatever was in the metaphorical pot. He smiled, turning his attention back to the really very appealing hair. "Good call."

The hair moved away, but his disappointment was lost in the light brush of Reid's lips across his, which was even better. Gideon deepened the contact, more than happy with what he'd won.

/story


End file.
